


Of Showers and Presidents

by Sira



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sira/pseuds/Sira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill's thoughts under the shower. Just a bit of good ol' nonsense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Showers and Presidents

**Author's Note:**

> All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended
> 
> Beta read by the amazing quantumsilver! All remaining mistakes are mine.

Bill Adama entered the head, eyes still closed, heading for the shower

It was barely after 0500 hours when Bill Adama entered the head, eyes still halfway closed, heading for the shower. Even being with the military for longer than he cared to think about didn’t make getting up in the morning any easier. His muscles were aching, and he was sure his back would kill him sooner or later. He should have stayed in bed, simple as that. Hell, if it came down to it, he should be retired and enjoying his life somewhere else right now.

He snorted. Even given the possibility to sleep in he wouldn’t do it, discipline was too ingrained into the very core of his being. Once military, always military. Still, the illusion of having the chance to sleep in, even once, was pure bliss in itself.

Sighing, he stepped into the small cubicle, turning on the cold water. His eyes snapped open, and he took a few ragged breaths. ‘Mission Wake Up’ accomplished, he turned on the warm water, revelling in the feel of it cascading down his body.

He grasped for the bar of soap, mentally going over the list of tasks that would have to be accomplished today. First and foremost there’d be the weekly meeting with the president at 0900 hours. Awesome. Something about relocating something or another. It wasn’t like he had a ship to run, or a fleet to protect. Of course, there was always time for a nice cup of tea and a little chat about this or that. Why not?

He groaned. Gosh, the woman could be really annoying. Not that she didn’t have a point with most of the things she said, but still … They would never see eye to eye. Not for as long as she wasn’t able to accept military necessities. He didn’t make any decision lightly, and he wished she would learn to consider his point of view as well, before stating that whatever she had to suggest was best for the fleet anyway, and thus had to be done.

He started to scrub himself vigorously along his arms and his stomach, wondering silently what it was about Roslin that had his temper boiling over way too often. Yes, she was stubborn, unyielding, but it wasn’t that there wasn’t any logic in her arguments. Yet … something in the way she talked, moved, the way she looked at him …

His hand travelled lower, soaping his legs and his groin. Putting the soap away again, he closed his eyes, just enjoying the sensation of warm water rinsing him clean. Maybe he should just stay here, right under the shower, and forget about his worries for a change.

Knowing the president though, she would find a way to get a hold of him. At the thought alone, he almost thought he could hear the telltale click of her heels. Come to think of it, she had to be one of the few women left still wearing heels. Not that he minded that particular aspect of his commander in chief. The heels accentuated her long legs quite nicely. Well, more than quite nicely to be true. Then there were those tight skirts of hers … He let his imaginary gaze travel from her heels to the well shaped ass covered in that black skirt that suited her so well. At the thought of grasping those two soft swells, he felt part of himself harden and a light moan escaped his lips.

 

How would it feel to run his hands along her firm thighs, all the way under her skirt, bunching the fabric up to her waist before letting his hands slide around her waist and down, cupping her buttocks with his hands, squeezing them and pressing her body to his? Would she moan out at the intimate contact, or bite her bottom lip in an attempt to stay silent?

He groaned out in frustration, staring down at his, by now almost painful erection. This couldn’t be happening, shouldn’t be happening; the last thing he wanted was to think about Roslin like this. He could almost see her smiling at him, mocking him in his predicament; her mouth curled upward, those luscious lips slightly parted.

Another groan and Bill’s right hand travelled down almost of its own volition to stroke his hardened flesh.

How would it feel to kiss those lips, to coax them open with his own, to slide his tongue into her mouth, tasting her? Would she yield to him? What would kissing her be like? Would it been more like a dance, or a battle for supremacy, like everything else between them was?

His hand started to move slightly faster, the tension in his body increasing.

How would she look when he devoured her mouth, her body? Would she look flushed? Would she close her eyes and give herself over to the sensations of the flesh, or would she look at him, her eyes piercing into his very soul?

His hand travelled up and down the base of his hard shaft in an ever increasing rhythm, while his forefinger was massaging the sensible head. He wouldn’t last long. He leaned his head back against the tiled wall of the shower stall, his breathing ragged by now.

Would she let him be on top and be the one in control for once, or would she just straddle him, having her way with him? Would she talk to him while he moved inside of her, whispering breathy words into his ear? Would she moan out loudly or be silent, keeping everything bottled up inside of her?

His hand grasped his cock even harder, firmer, searching for more friction and finding it.

How would she look when her climax took her over the edge? Would she lose herself in the sensations, or try to control them? Would she let him see her completely undone, or would she try to hide behind closed eyes?

One last stroke and it was over; the semen cascading over his hand being washed away by the shower spray.

He remained still for a few minutes more, until his breathing has calmed down enough, before he left the shower and quietly dressed himself. Now that his body’s desire was sated, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of what had just happened. Jerking off to the image of the president hadn’t been on his list of things to do today. He didn’t even like the woman.

Now he would have to face her and look her in the eye, pretending he hadn’t just imagined that he had sex with her. Until today he hadn’t even consciously known that he was attracted to her. Hell, he still didn’t want to know, come to think of it.

Maybe he was just overworked though, and this all meant nothing. Yeah, that might be it. After shaking his head one last time to clear it, he left his cabin.

 

It was time to face the president; his commander in chief, his adversary, his counterpart … his … destiny?


End file.
